Don't Say Goodbye
by Angeltree16
Summary: Tag to No Rest for the Wicked. "You're not goin' to hell. You're not goin' anywhere. We'll get Bobby, or a faith healer to patch you up. Just hold on." What if Dean didn't die immediately after the hellhound attack? Please review.


Sam groaned. He could already feel bruises beginning to form on his back from where Lilith had slammed him into the wall. Standing, he put a hand to his temple, wincing. Whatever he had just done had left him drained.

Lilith was gone and Ruby's vessel with her.

He wasn't sure where either demon had gone and at the moment he didn't particularly care.

He had more pressing concerns.

Sam stumbled over to where his brother lay. There was red. So much red. And Dean was so still. And so pale. And he looked so small.

Sam felt his mind go numb as he fell to his knees and his throat tightened. His brother was d—

There was a small gasp and a weak, wet cough. Sam jerked his head down to Dean's face to see green eyes, glazed and fluttering, but still alive.

"Dean!"

Sam desperately sought out the largest wounds on his brothers chest and pressed down hard, his hands quickly becoming coated in blood. Dean cried out and Sam hushed him.

"It's okay Dean. It's okay. It's not even that bad. You'll be fine." Sam readjusted his hands, trying in vain to stop the bleeding.

"You're not goin' to hell. You're not goin' anywhere. We'll get Bobby, or a faith healer to patch you up. Just hold on."

Dean took a shaky breath.

"Sa—mmy…stop."

Sam met his brother's eyes, his own filling with tears that he blinked quickly away.

"Why?"

Dean could barely speak now, but his eyes answered for him.

 _"_ _Because it's too late Sam. Ya can't save me now. Even if you could, me livin' would void the deal and you'd drop dead. And I just can't have that."_

"And why do you get to decide Dean? Why do you get to say who lives and who dies?"

Dean's eyes sharpened for a moment.

 _"_ _Because I'm the older brother and you do what I say."_

Sam huffed.

"Since when?"

Dean grunted and turned his head to the side.

Sam felt hot, angry tears well in his eyes again.

It wasn't fair. After all that Dean had done for the world, for their family, for him… it just wasn't fair.

"S—Sam?"

Sam turned back to his big brother. Dean's head was still lolled to the side. His face looked so lined and careworn.

"You've got that look 'gain. Same one Dad..used to get." Dean coughed, blood staining his lips. "You've always been…so much..like 'im." With great effort, Dean righted his head and looked at Sam.

"D-don't be like him..now."

Sam stared at his brother in shock. Dean, the obedient son, who would always defend their father whenever he and Sam butted heads. The little soldier. The trained hunter. Even after his death, Dean had followed their Dad's orders, but now…

"P-promise me."

Dean's breath was wheezing now.

Sam swallowed the lump in his throat.

"I promise Dean."

Dean smiled, and despite the red that flecked his teeth, he looked years younger. He reached up, cupping the side of Sam's face, unknowingly smearing it with blood. The fingers of his other hand twitched and Sam, removing his hand from Dean's chest, grabbed it tightly and smiled softly.

Dean's eyes drooped shut, and he murmured so quietly that Sam barely caught the words.

"Ya have her eyes…Mom's. Just like Dad 'n everythin' else. Everythin' but the eyes. Have her eyes. 's the one thing I remember…her eyes."

Sam looped an arm under Dean's back, cradling him against his shoulder, just like Dean had done for him when he had nightmares as a kid.

Dean smiled into the rough fabric of Sam's old flannel, letting out a sigh.

"Bitch."

Sam let a tear slip down his cheek at last.

"Jerk."

Dean's hand fell away from his cheek and his other hand went lax in Sam's grip.

The bleeding stopped.

With that first tear fell another. And another. Until Sam broke down at last, hugging his brother's body to his chest, sobbing into the thick, spiky hair.

"Come back…please come back."

There was no answer.

"Dean please…please don't—don't go."

"He's gone, son."

Sam whirled around at the familiar voice. Bobby stood in the broken doorframe staring at Dean's motionless form, and for the first time in his life, Sam saw the confident man who became a father in his eyes look lost. His eyes shone with an empty sadness as he removed his worn blue cap and shuffled over to stand by Sam, placing a warm hand on his shoulder.

They stayed that way for a long time.

—

Sam stared out the window of Bobby's old pick-up truck at the bleak landscape. It was dark now. The tall pines hid the moon and no other cars were on the road. Who knew what was out in the shadows.

 _"'_ _Course you should be afraid of the dark! You know what's out there!"_

Sam squeezed his eyes shut at the memory. He'd still been at Stanford then. His biggest worry had been his interview Monday. No monsters. No death. Dean, Jess, Dad…they'd all been alive. Hardly a care in the world.

He took a shaky breath, looking down at the crinkled material in his hands. It was one of those cheap napkins you find in bars. Dean had picked this one up around three weeks ago when they were working a case in Cleveland. He'd complained about the beer all night.

Steeling himself, he looked down at the tearing paper, wearing ever thinner the longer he held it. There was Dean's quick, messy scrawl written in blue pen covering nearly every inch, blood occasionally smearing the ink. Sam had found it in his own hand when he'd finally gathered the strength to release his brother's lifeless fingers. Dean had been holding it when he died.

Sam read it again, for maybe the twenty-third or twenty-fourth time that night.

 **Sammy,**

 **I know I haven't got much of a chance. I've known that from the start. But if I'm gonna die, I might as well use this as the one and only time you can't argue with me.**

 **First of all, I'm sorry. I'm sorry to put you through this Sam. I know how you feel, but you've gotta listen. You can't do what Dad did and you can't do what I did. If you get caught up in revenge, you'll be chasing it your whole life. And that's what they want Sam. It's how we came to this. If we hadn't been so damn hell-bent…**

 **Lilith will use your anger against you if you hunt her down. She will turn you to the Dark Side. Don't you let her. Just let it go Sam. Let it all go.**

 **Let me go.**

 **Don't try to break the deal. As soon as you do it'll kill you, and that'd torture me more than anything in hell ever could.**

 **Just walk away Sammy. Just walk away from it all. Someone else can save the world. Change your name. Go back to school. Start a family. Just go and be happy Sam.**

 **For me.**

 **Dean**

 **P.S. I don't trust that Ruby bitch. Stay away from her and take care of my Baby.**

 **Here's hoping we don't meet again.**

Sam could almost see his brother lifting a beer bottle.

 **I swear, if we do, I will kick your undead ass.**

—

Dean never broke. For hundreds of years they tortured him, but he never gave in. He never saw or heard tell of his brother being down below and it gave him strength. He never tortured another soul.

In the early days, around forty years in, there was quite a commotion in the inner circles of hell.

Apparently the angels were attacking

Dean scoffed at the idea. Angels weren't real.

There was a time when he'd questioned the truth of this belief.

Many demons had been called to the gates of hell to defend against intruders, so Dean was mostly on his own with naught but the chains and the hooks for company.

For two weeks, only the odd demon would stop to torment him. So it was only natural that the hand surprised him. Strong and warm, it grasped his upper arm and began pulling him up. Dean gasped in shock at a touch that did not precede pain. He felt a small thrill at the thought of escape. Twisting to glance at his rescuer, he saw only a shock of dark hair and bright eyes peering at him from above before the hand dropped him.

Falling back to his original place, he caught a swift glimpse of Alastair burying a silvery blade into his rescuer's back. The figure gasped, eyes glowing as the demon pushed him into the never-ending abyss below, Dean's only hope falling into oblivion.

He never even knew his name.

Over the centuries Dean endured on his own, until the fateful day that one of Lucifer's followers, long having lost her reason, grew so frustrated at his resilience that she reduced Dean's soul to ash.

She was punished severely, but the damage was done.

And Dean was at peace.

—

It had taken a long time, but Sam had let go.

He had gone back to law school under the name Jared Harvelle, working at his 'mother' Ellen's bar on weekends with his 'sister' Jo to pay off tuition. Other days he worked at the junkyard with his 'dad' Bobby Singer.

The day Bobby and Ellen got married was one of the happiest of Sam's life. Happier than the day he graduated. Happier than the day he met Jenny. Happier than the day he married her. But not quite happier than the day their son was born.

They named him Dean. He had her hair and his eyes. He got into all sorts of trouble and was constantly playing with an old amulet his dad wore around his neck.

Bobby and Ellen adored him as their own grandson. They spoiled him until the day they died.

They were very old and they went in their sleep.

Forty years later, so did Jenny.

And five years later, after a longer and happier life than any hunter before, so did Sam. Peacefully and quietly, with the wind beyond the window being just the wind and not the cries of a tortured soul.

And life went on.

Dean Harvelle never knew a thing of hunting.

Dean Winchester would have been proud.


End file.
